


Support

by yourebrilliant



Category: White Collar
Genre: Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 18:17:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourebrilliant/pseuds/yourebrilliant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal is injured in the line of duty.  But not a lot ;D</p>
            </blockquote>





	Support

**Author's Note:**

> part of the more-funny-than-tragic hurt/comfort series I've written in return for [](http://rabidchild67.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://rabidchild67.livejournal.com/)**rabidchild67** 's awesome White Collar/Glee crossover fics.

‘Ow! Ow! Watch it, Peter, in pain here!’

Peter sighed deeply and readjusted his grip on his querulous partner. ‘There’s only so many ways to get you out of the car, Neal,’ he commented.

‘Well, I vote for a way that _doesn’t_ further aggravate the wound I sustained _in the line of duty_.’ Neal slung an arm around Peter’s shoulders and wiggled his hips to shuffle to the edge of the seat. Peter carefully bent Neal’s leg and gently extracted his foot from the car.

‘The line of duty?’ Peter asked incredulously. ‘You tripped-’

‘-was thrown,’ Neal interjected, lifting his other leg out.

‘-over a pile of pipes during a takedown, Neal. It’s not like you took a bullet.’

Ignoring Peter’s comments, Neal slid his other arm around Peter’s neck and leaned close, pressing against Peter’s body as he stood. ‘I think I need a bell,’ Neal said, snuggling close and tipping his face up to fully expose his big blue eyes.

‘To wear ‘round your neck?’ Peter asked sharply, ignoring the look Neal was giving him. Despite his harsh tone, Peter handled Neal carefully as he carried him up the short flight of steps to the row house they lived in.

Neal laughed softly. ‘No, to ring when I need something.’

Peter grunted as he manoeuvred them through the front door. ‘You’ve got a sprained ankle, you big baby, you need a support bandage and a TV remote. You do _not_ need a bell.’

‘But, what if I need a drink?’ Neal asked, sinking gratefully back into the thick cushions of the living room couch.

‘You can hop,’ Peter declared, standing again and resisting the urge to brace the base of his spine against the effort of carting Neal up the steps. For such a slight guy, Neal was not light. ‘Right, I’m going back to the office.’ Neal looked up at Peter with raised eyebrows and a familiar expression. ‘No,’ Peter said, raising his hands to ward off the inevitable. ‘Don’t do it, Neal.’ Neal tilted his head to one side and Peter covered his eyes. ‘It doesn’t work. It may work on El, but it won’t on me.’

‘Then why hide your eyes, Peter?’ Neal asked, perfectly reasonably, damn it. Sighing deeply, Peter lowered his hand.

‘Goddamnit, Neal,’ Peter said, propping his hands on his hips. ‘We’ve talked about this before. Grown men do _not_ pout. Not at all, and definitely not to get their way!’

‘I understand, Peter,’ Neal said, making his eyes as big as possible.

Peter made an exasperated noise and flung his arms in the air. ‘Fine. I’ll work on case files in the living room. If you need a drink you can _ask_ me.’ Neal beamed. ‘But _no_ bell,’ Peter added, firmly.

‘Thank you, honey,’ Neal replied, his tone mockingly sweet.

‘And no “honey”.’ Peter added, frowning down at him.

Neal sighed dramatically. ‘Don’t you love me, Peter?’

Peter leant forward, his arms braced on the sofa, his face only a breath away. ‘Yes, Neal. You’re a melodramatic pain in my ass, but I do love you. But,’ Peter added, leaning back before Neal could kiss him, ‘that doesn’t mean you can call me honey.’

Neal rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, fine,’ he huffed. Peter smiled and kissed him briskly.

‘Now,’ Peter said, standing again, ‘what do you need, before I settle into the gripping world of mortgage fraud?’

Neal tilted his head. ‘Uhm, support bandage, remote control, glass of wine-’

‘You _need_ wine?’ Peter asked, sceptically, already regretting his question. He wondered when El was coming home; she _liked_ looking after Neal.

Neal gazed at him innocently, ‘It’s medicinal, Peter, it’s a painkiller.’

Peter hummed, unconvinced. ‘Anything else, your Highness?’

‘That’s all for now,’ Neal conceded. ‘Sweetheart.’

Already heading for the kitchen, Peter sighed, and ignored the taunt.


End file.
